


An Unexpected Arrangement

by edokko



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 21:28:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3224078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edokko/pseuds/edokko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gift for <a href="http://arthurjones93.tumblr.com">arthurjones93</a> as part of the <a href="http://frukgiftexchange.tumblr.com">frukgiftexchange</a>. Hope you enjoy it!</p>
<p>Prompt was 'ex pirates that have the old traits, a little like Mr and Mrs Smith' and 'domestic cuddles.'</p>
<p>Many thanks to both <a href="http://losthitsu.tumblr.com">losthitsu</a> and <a href="http://midoriis.tumblr.com">midoriis</a> for being such helpful and awesome betas!</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unexpected Arrangement

France couldn’t believe the newspaper headline he was reading.

“Prince George of England proposes to his fiancée, beautiful heiress Adèle of the French L’Oreal fortune—the emergence of the new power couple of Europe?”

He muttered a few curse words softly under his breath, knowing what this marriage would entail. Closing the newspaper shut in one swoop and drinking down the rest of his morning espresso, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

So a royal marriage was really going to happen. Prince George, oldest son of King William and his wife Catherine, was heir apparent to the British throne. Rumor was that he met Adèle Bettencourt, the wealthy heiress to the L’Oreal cosmetics empire, during his study abroad at an elite school in Paris and fell head over heels—this is still the city of love after all, France mused.

As a country he knew that it was just a part of the natural order of things, since their heads of state would want the temporary merging of powers to go as smoothly as possible. But he tried to push the thought from his mind. Soon, France knew he would be forced to live with England at his house for a while, at least until the new royal marriage was ended by natural means--or otherwise.

France knew it would be unbearable for both of them to live with each other. Since time immemorial these two had been at each other’s throats, silently wishing for the failure of the other--but always comforted at the same time of the other’s existence.

As long as the other was far away, of course.

France wasn’t looking forward to it.

\-----

It was rainy as usual in London when France arrived via the Eurostar. Passing by reunited lovers and happy families in the arrivals area, he finally found the young man with disheveled straw colored hair he was looking for. France thought he looked absolutely ridiculous in the striped suit, more like a decrepit businessman than a nation. Bushy eyebrows furrowed behind rectangular glasses when the young man recognized France, and his face was full of disdain.

“Hello, Francis. Welcome to London,” England said, sarcastically.

“Bonjour, Angleterre,” France replied back, a small smile creeping up on his face as he spoke his own language to spite England.

England huffed. “Don’t call me that here. You know we’re only supposed to use our human names in public. And don't speak French to me. You’re not in your own country anymore, frog.” He smirked at his insult.

“Humph. An unpleasant host as always,” retorted France.

England ignored his comment. “Let’s get on our way then. I have my car waiting for us outside.”

They walked down the long arrival hall until they reached the exit, and England led the way to a black car waiting for them by the curb.

“Get in,” he commanded. “And give me your suitcase, I’ll put it in the boot.” He grabbed at France’s luggage.

“Please. I am capable of handling my own affairs.” France slapped his hand away.

England scowled and said nothing as he sat down in the passenger’s seat, while France plopped down in the back seat.

“Hello Mr. Bonnefoy!” said Howard, very cheerily with a huge grin. “Hope you had a pleasant journey under the Channel.”

“Ah, Howard! Yes, of course, so nice to see you.” France was happy that there was someone pleasant in this terrible country, at least.

England rolled his eyes at their exchange. “Howard, take us to the house. We’ve got a long way ahead of us.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Kirkland.”

The engine rumbled and soon they were on their way to the manor house where England lived. It would a long journey, since it was so far in the countryside. France had been there numerous times before, but he still couldn’t get used to the idea that this time the stay would be more…. permanent.

\----

Silence blanketed the car, with only the faint sounds of classical music playing from the radio and the humming of the engine tying its passengers to reality.

France was the first to speak. “So, how are the marriage preparations coming?” He looked longingly out the window, not wanting to believe this place would be his new home.

England replied sternly. “Fine. The bride isn’t being easy about the whole thing, but that’s to be expected of a Frenchwoman.” He snorted. “I’m doing my best to ensure there isn’t any trouble.”

“Ah. That’s good to hear,” France said, detached.

Howard chimed in. “It’ll be such a happy occasion! I can feel the excitement in the air. Both your peoples seem eager to watch the celebration.”

England sighed, thinking of all the work and negotiating he’d have to do this week. “Yes…but there’s still a lot to be done.”

“A happy occasion for the general populace yes, and a convenient one for the higher ups, but …restricting for some others,” France stated coolly.

“Oh don’t act like you’re the only one that’s suffering. You’ve always been so overdramatic.” England turned around to look at France. “Just stay in your corner of the house and I’ll stay in mine.”

France stared at England for a moment, his eyes hard and focused on England’s, before looking away and not replying.

Howard changed the subject quickly. “We’re almost at the house! At least it’s not raining out here. A perfect and sunny day, that’s rare in rainy England. ”

As France looked out at the green and undulating English countryside, he could swear it was almost as beautiful as home.

\----

The car turned off the highway and passed through a tiny unknown village of stone houses, before continuing left onto a long gravel road. Trees began to pop up alongside the road, but before long they became so thick France was convinced they wouldn’t see another living soul for ages. He had forgotten about how isolated England’s place was.

The sea of trees suddenly cleared, and a beautifully ornate black gate signaled the end of their journey.

Howard got out of the car to open the giant padlock on the gate, which gave way with a giant creek.

As the car moved forward along the road to the house, France inhaled sharply.

It was absolutely stunning. The house was rectangular in shape, with two rows of gold framed windows. The setting sunlight basked the manor in a light orange glow, and the light elegantly accentuated the balusters on the roof. The Englishmen usually had no taste in France’s eyes, but he couldn't deny the architectural beauty of his home.

England’s voice snapped him out of his daydream. “Are you going to get out of the car or just sit there all night, frog?” He started to walk up the staircase to the house, and was fumbling with the keys.

“I was just amazed that there could be such beauty in a house inhabited by you.” France replied back, as Howard handed him his suitcase.

“Well uh, I’ve got to get back to London now to help the royal family out with their preparations. Hope you enjoy your stay, I-I m-mean, move, Mr. Bonnefoy. And good evening to you, Mr. Kirkland.” Howard got back into the driver’s seat.

“Wait! Howard, don't you want to take a small rest here at least?” England yelled down.

“Ah thank you Mr. Kirkland, but I’ve just really got to get back. Lots of things to prepare for the wedding! But please, don’t kill each other while I’m gone.” Howard switched on the car and pressed on the gas, and soon the car was out of sight.

France watched the car slowly disappear, and let out a long sigh before he headed up the stairs.

\----

England had his arms crossed when France shut the main door behind him.

“Thought you’d already run away already since it took you so long. Make sure you lock the door,” England stated coolly.

“Don’t act as if I have any choice in the matter.” France replied.

“Stop acting like such a baby, France. It’s not like either of us haven’t experienced this before. You’ve always been the type to give up easily when things don’t go according to your plan.” Even though England wasn’t smiling, France knew from the gleam in his eyes that he was enjoying the situation.

“Just show me to my room, please.” France was feeling exasperated from dealing with this man.

England turned his back to France and motioned with his fingers to follow. Leading France up the worn but well kept wooden stairs to the second floor, they walked down a very ornate hall lined with several bookshelves, tapestries, and what seemed to be old maps of the British empire curled up in between nooks and crannies. France touched some of the bookshelves with his fingertips as he walked by, feeling the smoothness from all the use by England throughout the years.

After walking by numerous doors, they finally stopped at one with a small plush doll of a frog on it.

“I left it there in case you can’t find the room on your own.” England smirked.  
He took out a very heavy and old looking key, and twisted the knob of the door.

“Very tasteful, as always.” France rolled his eyes.

The room wasn’t very big, but was just spacious enough to be cozy for one. A large queen sized bed was placed against the right side wall, with a warm looking Bordeaux red cover and white linen pillows. A large ornate Persian rug covered most of the floor, although France could see some of the smooth wooden flooring as well in parts of the room.

There was a large window overlooking the extensive rose bushes outside, which had always been England’s pride and joy. By the window was an exquisite mahogany wooden desk with a green lamp, as well as an equally ancient looking wooden chair next to it. Across the foot of bed France saw a fireplace covered in fine dust, and he was happy it wasn’t winter time—he could tell the house had the potential to be very, very cold.

In three paces France quickly placed his luggage by the bed. He saw that on the left side wall close to the bed there were a few bookshelves. He saw a title he had read many times over and moved closer to investigate.

He ran a long finger on the spine of the book and took it from the shelf.

“Oh, I didn’t know you read _Les Fleurs du Mal,_ Angleterre. Whenever did you become such an intellectual?” France smirked at England mockingly.

England laughed and crossed his arms. “Oh, please. I can still read and understand your bloody language. I am a cultured gentleman, after all.”

France sat down on the bed and started skimming through the pages, feeling comforted by the fact that he still had access to his language in this terrible place.

England’s harsh voice interrupted his brief respite into his own world. “My room is next door. It’s getting dark, so I’ll start making something to eat in the kitchen. Feel free to join me when you’ve stopped being so sentimental.”

By the time France had thought of an insult to hurl at England about his cooking, England was already out the door.  
France put the book down and lay down on the bed, his hands behind his neck. His legs hanging off the side, he felt he had finally started to accept the situation he found himself in.

Staring at the ceiling, he began to recite in French some of his most favorite lines from Baudelaire:

_Et cependant voilà des siècles innombrables_   
_Que vous vous combattez sans pitié ni remords,_   
_Tellement vous aimez le carnage et la mort,_   
_Ô lutteurs éternels, ô frères implacables!**_

_(**Yet for countless ages you have fought each other_   
_Without pity, without remorse,_   
_So fiercely do you love carnage and death,_   
_O eternal fighters, implacable brothers!)_

After sitting in silence for a time, he got up and walked downstairs to try to find the kitchen.

\-----

The week of utter hell quickly arrived as the final marriage preparations were underway in London. France was even more irritated than usual due to England’s insistence that he stay out of all matters pertaining to the wedding.

Heavy rain started to fall on the windowpane in England’s London office, and France mentally cursed the terrible weather of this country.

“I don’t understand, the bride is from _my_ country! I have the right to help!” France hated how pathetic he was sounding, pleading to have any input in a wedding, of all things.

England scoffed. “Your garish style of celebrating anything will likely end up in the whole marriage being called off. You. Stay. Out. Of. It.” England emphasized each syllable, and turned his back towards his France while starting to dial a number on his cell phone.

France’s fists clenched in anger, and he very seriously debated whether he should punch England on the back of the head.

No, France would never stoop down to such a level to defeat his enemy.

He smiled menacingly as he hatched a plan.

\-----

“François!!! It’s been so long--it’s so good to see you!” Adèle and France greeted one another with a kiss on each cheek. France never thought it would feel so wonderful to share in such a simple greeting, one that reminded him of being back home.

“Adèle, I am so happy to see you as well! And you look stunning. I am so happy for both you and Prince George! ”

England seethed in the corner as he watched the Frenchman talk to Adèle in rapid and bubbly French. Fucking bastard, he thought. How France had managed to convince England’s superiors that his involvement in the marriage was essential was a mystery, but it infuriated him to no end to see himself outsmarted by his old enemy.

England saw out of the corner of his eye that Adèle was moving towards him.

“Hello, Mr. Kirkland! Thank you for letting François assist me with my wedding plans. It’s just a huge comfort to have someone from your own country around.”

England tensed up as Adèle also gave him a kiss on each cheek, and when she pulled away France could see that his face was pink with embarrassment. The Brits had never really understood how to handle more physical greetings…he chuckled to himself.

England cleared his throat. “I’m very happy if Francis can be of any assistance to you, Madame. If you need anything from me, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

“Of course. I am so delighted by the warmth I’ve received from everyone here.” Adèle showed a shy smile and seemed a bit embarrassed. “I’m very excited to be a part of the British royal family.”

“My dear, we should really get going so we can plan out the final details. Everything will be perfect, I’ll make sure of it.” France winked at England as he left the room with a very happy Adèle, and England’s eyebrows twitched as he muttered a few curses under his breath.

\----

“Fuck off! I’ve already told you countless times--that’s not the correct way to place silverware. The fork tines should be facing up not down!” England slammed his hands on the table hard, and violently grabbed the fork.

“You’re always getting angry over absolutely nothing. You do know that’s terrible for your health? Back home, the fork is set down to show the crest of the family, which is on the bottom. Are you going saying my cultural standards are not acceptable in your home? Because if so, I’ll tell the bride that you were throwing a tantrum like a child over the placement of the silverware.” France’s voice was starting to get louder and louder.

They’d been arguing over minute details of the wedding for well over an hour, and it was starting to wear down on France’s patience. The wedding was only four days away, and he just wanted the preparations to be done with.

“This is my country and home, and you will respect _my_ rules. The fork will be placed upwards, and that’s the end of the story.” England waved his hand in the air to signal the end of the argument, and started to walk away. He couldn’t believe that he’d just spent an hour arguing over fucking utensils with his mortal enemy, for Christ’s sake.

He let out a small yelp when two smooth, delicate hands grabbed his hair tightly from behind. Small tears welled up in his eyes from the pain. France pushed England’s head roughly against the wall, while pinning his arms behind his back, rendering him immobile.

“Listen well England, Arthur Kirkland, or whoever you think you are. I will not stand to see myself disrespected, nor my culture or customs. You think you have control over me, just because I’m going to live in your house for a little while? Trust me, I am not afraid to make your life a living hell during those years. Not only for you personally, but for your superiors, as well… and I do have my ways of getting back at those who insult me. Do you understand?”

It took a few moments before England hesitantly replied.

“Y….yes.”

France pushed England’s face even further into the wall before finally letting ago. He walked away in complete silence, slamming the door so hard on the way out that England swore it would break off the hinges.

England stood up on his two legs, unable to stop them from shaking uncontrollably.

\---

France refused to talk to him after the incident, and ignored all his attempts at conversation. England gave up after 3 days, and couldn’t stop fretting about how he’d have to answer to his bosses if he couldn’t get France to cooperate eventually…

On the morning of the 4th day, England finally mustered up the courage to try and give France the apology letter he’d written. He drew in a sharp breath while standing in the front of France’s door, and his hand was unsteady as he knocked.

“France? Are you awake? It’s me….I-I’ve…come to talk about things.”

No answer.

England tried again, knocking a little more loudly. Although it was early, France was usually already up by this time…

He tried turning the doorknob, his eyes widening as he realized it was unlocked. After opening it hastily, he saw that there was no France to be seen in the room.

Had France decided to abandon him, on the day of the wedding? England would truly be in trouble with his superiors. He rushed down to the entrance of his manor home, where he had an ancient looking black telephone on a small table.

“Howard, it’s me. Listen, have you seen Francis?” England tried to keep his voice calm, but the panicked tone was very obvious to Howard.

“No I haven’t, Mr. Kirkland…I’m assuming he’s missing and you don’t know where he is?”

“….Yes. He wasn’t in his room and the wedding is very soon. I’m worried he won’t be able to make it, and you know how much of a PR disaster that would be.”

“Of course. I’ll make a few calls and see if I can’t locate him. I’ll come pick you up at the original time we discussed, at 7:30am.” Howard felt like pulling out his hairs one by one, since it was going to be difficult to locate Francis without revealing too much to the ministers and politicians.

Remembering how much of an anxious and worrying person England truly was at heart, Howard offered some words of encouragement before hanging up. “Don’t worry Mr. Kirkland, we’ll find him and the wedding will go as planned. I’ll see you very soon.”

\---

On the 3rd night France had quickly packed his favorite clothes in a used but well loved suitcase, and he hurried quietly down the steps leading outside. He could see the steam rising from the exhaust of the taxi he called to pick him up, and soon they were making their way to London.

Morning was breaking, with the black sky slowly turning into a deep grey when they arrived at London St Pancras station. France gave the taxi driver a generous tip and double-checked his coat pocket to make sure he had his Eurostar ticket back to Paris with him.

As he took a seat in the station and stared at the departures board, he couldn’t help but feel anger at himself for letting Adèle down, not to mention how cowardly it was of him to leave because he couldn’t bear to live with England any longer. He never considered himself to be one to give up easily since his pride usually won out, but after thinking and agonizing over it for hours, he had made up his mind that all he could do was leave.

He rummaged through his messenger bag, looking for his phone so that he could at least call the soon to be member of the royal family and wish her well.

After turning his phone on for the first time in a few days, his eyes immediately widened when he saw the multiple texts, calls, and voice mails left by a certain stubborn and bushy eye browed young man.

He dialed his voice mail and listened to the most recent message, a wobbly and hoarse voice beginning to flow into his ear.

“F-France….I….I’ve called to…”

After listening to the entire message through, France quickly dialed the house of the royal family, and made his way outside to hail a cab.

\---

Adèle had just finished getting her make up done when France knocked and quietly let himself into her room.

“Oh, François! I didn’t expect you to be here so early…I’m still not ready.” She said as she quickly gave him a kiss on each cheek as a greeting.

France hoped she didn’t see the lack of sleep on his face. He was dressed in a fitted black suit with a crisp white shirt and shiny black tie, his soft and golden hair tied back with a small red ribbon.

He placed a hand on each of her petite shoulders while looking her straight in her amber colored eyes, and smiled. “He’s a very lucky man to have you.”

Her cheeks turned a rosy pink, and she brushed his cheek tenderly with her fingers.

A sudden crash startled them both, and France could hear loud running footsteps that seemed to be getting closer and closer to the door. The door reverberated with a loud bang, as if someone was trying to knock it down. France immediately turned his back towards Adèle and took a protective position, and he braced himself for whatever was coming to get them.

As the door fell down, a middle aged man with a large and heavy camera was snapping photos, the bright light blinding France momentarily. The flashing was non-stop, and he could hear a scream coming from Adèle as she tried to run away to the further corner of the room. After he quickly gained his composure, France lunged towards the man and caught his leg, pulling at it hard and making him fall. He quickly grabbed the camera from his hand and threw it with all his might onto the ground, breaking the lens from the body. He grabbed both of the man’s arms and held his grip tightly.

“Quickly darling, get me something I can tie his hands with.” France shouted at Adèle without glancing up, keeping his eyes on the man underneath him lest he try to get away.

“Fuck you, you asshole! You’re going to pay for this, they were offering anyone a million pounds to get some shots of her!” Spit out the paparazzi, his eyes angry.

France stuffed his handkerchief into the man’s mouth to shut him up. “You never disrupt a wedding and intrude on a lady, do you understand? Disgusting pig. ” Adèle handed him a belt she brought over, and France wrapped it around the man’s wrists so tightly that it drew a little blood.

France heard hurried footsteps approaching, and several guards rushed into the Adèle's room. An all too familiar voice shouted from behind them, “Guards, take this man away!” Several hands roughly helped the intruder to his feet and hauled him away, a long chain of curses being able to be heard for a few moments until they slowly faded away down the hall.

After the guards had left, England walked over to an upset Adèle and unfazed France, who got up and brushed his pants off.

“What happened?” England asked in short breaths. His face was red and a few drops of sweat were forming on the sides of his face.

France looked at him coolly, his voice monotone. “I was just talking to her when we heard a loud crash and that paparazzi came in.” He pointed to the broken camera on the ground, small bits and pieces strewn about the room.

Adèle was sniffling, unable to hold back the tears. France wrapped his arm around her shoulder and whispered softly into her ear, trying to calm her down.

Not knowing what to make of the ordeal, England awkwardly stared at both a crying Adèle and comforting France until her sniffling gradually stopped.

“Ahem…”England cleared his throat. “Well, erm…the wedding should be starting in about an hour or so…Madame, are you alright?”

Adèle gingerly touched her eyes, trying to wipe away any last tears. After a pause she replied, “Yes, yes I’m fine…just a bit startled, that’s all.” She turned to give France a tight hug and England could hear her saying merci.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” France asked, knowing that deep down inside she was probably still very nervous and afraid.

“Don’t worry about me. Now shoo! I’ve got to get ready in such little time…” England motioned to the guards standing outside the door to let her helpers in, who rushed around her trying to make up for the lost time.

“We should leave the lady to get ready.” France said to England, and motioned for him to follow him out to the hall.

As they walked out to the cars that awaited them, England was thinking the entire time of how to begin to apologize to France, or ask him if he saw or heard any of the messages on his phone.

“Francis, I wanted to ask if you…”

“Heard the multiple messages, saw the never ending texts and the missed calls you left me? Yes, I did Angleterre. But let’s discuss things after the wedding is over, if you don’t mind.”

As England felt a dreaded cold sensation over his entire body, France smiled mischievously while looking up at the sunny London sky.

\---

The wedding had finished without any other incidents, and France and England wished the newlyweds all their best at the airport, where they quickly departed for their honeymoon in the Maldives on a private jet.

England quickly loosened his tie in the car on the way back to London, feeling the need for a pint or two to relax. France was feeling the exact same way, and couldn’t help but think of how exquisite a glass of Bordeaux would taste at that moment…

“Howard, do you mind stopping for a bit at the usual spot? Let’s take a well deserved break!” France raised his eyebrows at the word “usual spot,” and assumed correctly that it was England’s favorite pub.

“Are you sure Mr. Kirkland? It’s already late and we’ve still got a ways to go if you’d like to make it back home by a reasonable hour.” Howard knew England better than the latter assumed, and could guess what was coming.

“Oh nonsense! We can always stay at the flat in the city if needed be. Plus I’ve got to take this frog out for a drink as a reward for his help in preventing a potentially embarrassing pre-wedding disaster.” England pointed his thumb to France, who rolled his eyes.

“…Alright, I agree to this plan, but only if you get me a bottle of some decent wine. I still can’t get used to that bitter drink of yours.”

England thanked Howard as he dropped them off at the curb, and his mouth was already watering at the smell of ale in the air. The bartender cheerily greeted him with his human name, and a small smile graced France’s lips seeing all happy people talking and laughing.

As England promised, he bought France a bottle of premium red wine, and France already felt so much better and relaxed with the first sip. Meanwhile, England was drinking down his ale so quickly that within a few minutes he was already getting up from his chair to ask for another one.

“Shouldn’t you control yourself a bit more, Arthur? We all know how you get with alcohol…” France winked at him.

England scoffed. “Oh come on Francis, it’s not like that happens every time. I’ll be right back, I’ll order another.”

France prepared himself mentally for the worst possible scenario, and took another sip of his wine.

\----

France gritted his teeth as he struggled to balance a drunk and sick England while waiting for Howard to pick them up.

A sleepily looking Howard arrived in the official car, and helped France lift and place England in the back seat.

“Don’t…don’t touch me!! Damn perverted frog…” England slapped his hands against the air, and murmured to himself again.

“I hope this isn’t too much of a bother for you, Howard.” France said as he got into the passenger’s seat.

“It’s no problem, Mr. Bonnefoy. But it’s too late to drive out to the house now, so I’ll drop you two off at the flat.”

After a few minutes drive through the empty London streets, France bid Howard goodbye and made his way up the stairs to the flat.

Carefully making his way in the dark to England’s room, he placed him gently on the bed. France helped take the drunk one’s shoes off and placed his jacket on the chair in front of the desk. England made some strange sounds while tossing and turning on, and France slowly and quietly walked away to leave the room.

England’s weak and pleading voice stopped him in his tracks.

“F-France? Are you still there?”

“...Yes. Angleterre, what’s wrong?”

“I…I’m afraid of sleeping alone...”

France sighed, knowing what England was asking of him. He sat on the corner of the bed across from the other nation and stripped off his clothes one by one till he was only in his briefs and undershirt. England moved over slightly to make space for him, and a heavy silence in the air prevented either from really falling asleep.

“F…France?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I-I’m…I’m really sorry about what I said. I…I know I shouldn’t have done that.”

France smiled. This man only revealed his vulnerable side when he was so drunk that he wouldn’t even have a faint memory of what transpired.

“I know. And I forgive you. But I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

England shifted around and put his head on France’s shoulder, slightly startling him. France felt something wet on his skin, and could hear England sniffling and saying sorry over and over softly.

France put his hand on England’s head and ran his fingers through the thick, messy hair, giving him gentle kisses on his eyebrows and on his cheeks that were wet with tears.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. I forgive you, you silly man.”

England’s sniffles eventually died down, and his heavy and steady breathing signaled he had fallen asleep. France gently hugged England, and sleep overtook him.

\--

France was woken up from his dream with violent shaking.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing in my bed, frog?! W-we, I mean YOU! Y-you didn't do anything funny to me, did you?" England hovered over France, his eyes full of concern.

France pushed himself up, leaning his back against the bed frame. He rubbed his eyes.

“I didn’t know you were so afraid of sleeping alone, you should have told me earlier.” He said with slight mockery in his voice.

England’s face instantaneously became red, all the way up to his ears.

“You know, Angleterre, you’re quite cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“S-shut up!!” England huffed, his hands curling themselves into fists.

“I don’t think the marriage—our marriage, is ending anytime soon since it just happened, so you might as well tell me how you’re truly feeling instead of always hiding behind this tough and proud exterior.” France slipped out of bed and began to get dressed.

“So I’ll say it again when you’re sober, so you remember.” He exclaimed while buttoning up his shirt. “I forgive you and fully accept your apologies, all 54 of them that you left on my phone, and all the ones you said to me last night as well.” A small giggle escaped his lips.

“As for me, I am sorry I left so suddenly, and it was hasty and irresponsible of me to do so without telling you. I hope you accept my apology.” He put on his belt with small click and put his hands on his hips, intensely looking at England on the bed.

“Apology accepted, then.” England smirked.

“Get dressed then. I’ll go ahead and start cooking a proper breakfast. And before you ask, no, I do not want any of your scones.”

France laughed loudly as he left the room, and England hurled some curse words towards the Frenchman under his breath. All was back to normal.

\--

They finally had their first (sober) kiss a month after the wedding, and before they realized it themselves, they were in a relationship with all the happiness and fighting attached. They mainly lived in England’s manor house although they made frequent visits to London and Paris, especially for dates.

France was the first to break the news to his friends Spain and Prussia, the latter who loved gossip so much that it wasn’t long before the other nations were sending their congratulations to the new couple.

“Darling! America sent us a neon colored card offering his well wishes. Do you want to write something back?” France said as made his way outside to the garden, where England was working on his rose bushes. He shuffled through the mail, recognizing each nation’s card by their handwriting.

“I’ll do it later! And if you see them, tell those damn brats to stop coming into my garden. They’re ruining my beautiful roses!” England said from under his wide brimmed hat, while pruning the roses that were his pride and joy.

“I’ve heard there are rumors of two ghosts who live in this house, or at least that’s what those children in town say.” France moved closer to England and gave him a slow and tender kiss on the lips.

“Do you think we look that horrible?” England asked in a serious tone.

“Of course not, we’re just two old, grumpy ridiculous men,” France stated as a matter of fact with a slight smile.

“Who are you calling old and grumpy?” England placed his gardening tools down and stood up, grinning madly.

“Well then, prove me wrong.” France winked.

“You’re asking for it, you really are…” England said as he tightly hugged France and kissed him on the lips roughly.

“I can’t believe I’m in love with you, you ridiculous man.”

“And I can’t believe I’m in love with such a proud frog.”

“My my, how things can change over a millennia. Now let’s go inside, or the soup will get cold.”

As they each took their usual place at the table and began to joke and laugh like every other day, France finally felt at home.

**Author's Note:**

> **This poem is called L'homme et la mer, or the man and the sea. I thought it described England and France's turbulent relationship with each other quite well. You can find it the poem in it's entirety [here](http://fleursdumal.org/poem/113)!


End file.
